Torment
by Graive Elune
Summary: She is a plague within this world. A curse with little care as to who she infects. Venom seeps from her pours, trickling down upon the worlds soil, reaching out with sharpened claws to destroy whatever humanity is left within those closest to her. There is no remorse within the cold depths of her lifeless eyes, no nothing. She is Graive.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

The sharp edge of her clawed fingers tapped noisily against the hard, solid surface of the wooden table. Irritation bubbled beneath her skin, making her blood boil in a dangerously virile manner. It had been a long time since she'd felt anger, _loathing._ Yet here she sat, glowering at the man across from her with a sneer playing over the delicate mask of her face. Ciraz was a burly man, littered with large, lithe muscle that put most men to shame. The man had a smile that could cause the hardest of Amani women to swoon and beg for his attention – and yet this night, the fool had picked Graive to croon to.

The Castanic across from her brushed back his pristine white hair from his handsome face. A sigh left his lips as he lowered his emerald gaze to stare at her tapping claws. "**Is something wrong, sweet?**" Ciraz said smoothly, his tongue almost curling around the word 'sweet' as if he could seduce her merely by the utterance of the pet name. Usually, on a normal day, Graive's patience and apathy knew no bounds. Today, however, marked a special achievement on her behalf – the discovery of an emotion long forgotten. Ebony lips drew into a thin line as she frowned, but remained silent for the moment. "**Has anyone ever told you how gorgeous your body is? The things I'd like to do to it…**"

He made a sound of enjoyment in the back of his throat, as if he were imagining all the dirty things he could do to her. Within her own mind, Graive thought of similar things – unfortunately for him, it had nothing to do with the acts of intercourse. The witch gave a roll of her eyes, a soft sigh escaping between her painted lips. "**What kind of things?**" She mused, deciding to indulge in his dull little fantasies, if only to fuel her own disgust toward him. Graive was enjoying this feeling _far_ too much. The table creaked lightly as Ciraz leaned forward, his forearm stretching across the way toward her in a suggestive manner.

His eyes, which would have been beautiful to any other woman, merely made her think of the vibrant colors of the chemicals back at her lab. They gazed deeply at her and Ciraz had the audacity to touch her. Fingers; long, powerful and confident griped her delicate chin, holding her steady as he grew even closer. His pectorals pressed against the table now as his mouth moved to brush against the lobe of her pointed ear. "**I'd like to turn you over this table and take you from behind. Hard, fast, till you screamed my name.**" His voice was a dark temptation, but it held no power over Graive.

_I'm wondering if there is even an inch of intelligence within that thick skull of yours. _She thought inwardly, her cool eyes regarding the man across from her with impeccable ease. The art of scrutiny was one practiced and honed; Graive was a master at deciphering the subtle emotions of those around her. Passion, desire, it gleamed within the depths of his jaded eyes. The feel of his hot, clammy skin against hers made Graive stomach twist into unpleasant knots. The urge to growl at him was almost too much, but it was quickly tempered by the will of her composure. Licking her lips, Graive offered him a slow, sensual smile.

"**How tempting…**" She purred, moving back slowly to remove herself from his grasp. A chill ran down her spine, and Ciraz took this as something positive. The witch made no move to dissuade him either, as her overall appearance seemed thoroughly relaxed and entranced. The air around them suddenly seemed far too…_hot. _Delicate nostrils flared as the smells of the tavern made her nauseous. Ale, sweat, the sickly sweet smell of the barmaids perfumes – it was all overwhelming vile.

Standing abruptly, her svelte form became apparent in the dim lighting of the tavern. Graive's mocha skin seemed alive as the flickering flames of the lit candles cast dancing shadows upon her. Ciraz's hungry eyes devoured the sight of her. Her hair was thick and full, wavy as it cascaded down over slender, yet imposing shoulders. Bangs hung over her forehead in a straight cut fashion, framing her exotic features and insinuating the refined contours of each and every detail of her façade.

Thick, black lashes bordered cool, almost white blue eyes – mimicking the deadly chill of winter. An intricate design of makeup was painted over her features; a thick smoky look enhanced the beauty of her eyes. On the bottom corner of her left eye, her makeup extended down in a manner of odd design. What looked like coils of smoke could be seen slithering outward, as if it wished to consume the rest of her. Lips were laced in the same, dark, ebony hue and yet there was a soft gleam against the surface of their delicious curve.

Tonight she adorned a body suit of sorts. Holding a deep, royal purple coloration, it extended over every inch of her slender, petite frame. The fabric was a silken cloth, gleaming impressively within the light as if it tempted all those around it. To the touch, it was smooth, deliciously soft. Exposing little flesh, it was likely the most modest outfit the Castanic knew how to design. A sharp V cut over her chest, revealing deep, mocha skin in the dim light of the tavern. It just barely covered the necessities; giving just enough to leave the imagination wanting more.

A golden piece of jewelry wrapped around her feminine neck, like a snake, yet the edges are defined and blade like. It extended down, between her breasts and tipped into an acute point. Spike like pieces clung to her spine, pointing down until it reached a whip like metal tail connected to her suit. Whether it was for decoration, or a weapon, one couldn't quite tell. Like the spine, it was connected in parts and swayed easily with her body, giving her an almost lizard quality. Golden heels covered her feet, making it so that each slow, sensual step was a click of attention to all those around her.

Calculating eyes were focused squarely on his façade for a long moment before the witch leaned forward. Feminine hips swayed a moment before tilting to the left, her leg shifting as Graive crooked a clawed finger at the man. "**Why don't we go somewhere private, mhm?**" Like a drooling dog, Ciraz stood a second later with a triumphant look on his features. He thought he'd won, oh…_how wrong you are, pet. _The hiss of words was heard in the back of her mind, but not spoken as the Castanic woman allowed him to slip his arms around her thin waist. Turning around within his embrace, her backside slid across his groin suggestively and her body moved toward the door of the tavern. "**I can promise you won't regret this.**" He murmured near her ear, the heat of his breath making Graive grit her teeth.

_I can promise that you will. _She mused inwardly, those eyes of hers glinting with devilish amusement. So many emotions were ransacking her mind, excitement, anger, amusement. It made her heart pound heavily within her chest, her blood rush through her veins like a raging river. Sleek muscles danced in an erotic fashion beneath the smooth surface of her flesh with each graceful step. Graive's lips didn't part with words; instead she led the lustful man towards her home. Velika's expansive roads seemed endless, but the housing district wasn't far from the tavern.

The cobblestone roads seemed to cackle as the click of her heels tapped against it, the sound echoing against the tall, brick walls. Like a slithering snake, Graive slipped from the man's grasp as she pulled him along by his hands now, his lengthy legs easily keeping up with her long, confident strides. Ciraz's left hand moved, brazenly running over the round, smooth surface of her bottom. A coy grin slipped over the witch's painted lips; a husky laugh escaping into the air to encourage his behavior almost.

The seductive sway of her hips left Ciraz itching for more. His hands moved to grasp her waist, sliding up and down over her curves in a possessive manner as Graive continued to walk. As the streets of Velika formed into the walkway of the housing district, the statues of the goddess Velik stared at her accusingly. All Graive focused upon, however, was the exposed shape of her nipples. Idly she wondered…_what is so marvelous about breasts? _With a derisive snort, the woman brushed aside the absurd thought and pulled Ciraz toward her door.

Instead of normal locks, Graive's home was locked with a security measure she'd created herself. Different types of magical wards, even a curse here or there to punish any who dare trespass without invitation. With a wave of her slender hand, an echoing click could be heard, like the sound of something unlocking. A moment later the door swung open and Graive stepped to the side and motioned Ciraz in. _Let the games begin._

He took no time getting used to the place. Long legs carried him through the expansive apartment with ease, those eyes of his overlooking the sleek, elegant decorations. "**You're pretty neat, aren't you?**" The man murmured, taking a finger and sliding it along the surface of a nearby table. No dust. Graive tilted her head to the side innocently, as if she didn't understand exactly what he meant by that. "**I'm a woman.**" She commented simply, an apathetic shrug of her slender shoulders was given as Graive waved her door closed.

With a flick of her wrist, she placed all the wards and curses back upon it. This was as much a prison as it was a home, at least to those who became victim to Graive's curiosity. Ciraz removed his shoes, falling lazily upon the thick cushions of the seat near the bedroom. There were no paintings decorating the walls, no smiling faces of family, friends. The walls were a dull, dark purple – like the color of rotting flesh. Of course, the Castanic man noticed nothing of the sort.

The air was filled with a sweet musk, candles burned on the nearby tables, their flames flickering. Their shadows danced on the walls, giving way to the imagination that monsters were in the room. Near the door was a rack of weapons, one particular being a rather large, imposing great sword. It was intricate in design; flawless gems molded into the solid, shining surface of it. The blade was long, thick, and double-edged with jagged teeth near the tip. The hilt appeared to have the design of a snake coiling around its length.

Of course, within an instance Ciraz was on his feet once more and padding toward the impressive object. As if caressing a woman, his fingers slid over the smooth surface of the blade with admiration. "**What a beauty…**" He murmured, his voice sounding heavily awed. Funny - the thought process of men; women, weapons and war. Glancing sideways at him, her cool eyes regarded him with dull amusement.

"**Does she have a name?**" He asked breathlessly, licking his lips as if he wished to kiss the weapon. A slender brow rose in question; was he really that intrigued? The witch slipped on a façade of annoyance, her lips pulling into a thin line. "**Yes, her name is Graive…and she's growing impatient.**" The words were practically hissed out, a low huff escaping her lungs as she sighed heavily. Graive crossed her arms over her chest, looking down at Ciraz expectantly.

Almost instantly he was snapped out of his trance, a slow, boyish grin touching his handsome features as he laughed. "**Are you jealous, sweet? Don't worry; I've got plenty of attention reserved for you.**" He stood up, his lean, powerful body moving to slid against her. Fingers grasped her forearms and held tight, trying to pry her arms away to expose her chest to him. Ciraz's emerald eyes devoured the sight of her mocha flesh greedily. Licking his lips, his excitement grew as he thought it inevitable that the night would end in a pleasurable experience.

Graive stood there, her breath coming in short pants from the sheer amount of control she had to exercise. Her stomach twisted in knots, making her feel sick as his hands moved to roam her body. Turning her around, Ciraz's made sure to press her supple bottom against his hard groin. Graive winced as his fingers curled into the softness of her left breast, his teeth nibbled at the lobe of her ear, and his breathing was ragged. "**You're going to scream my name…**" He murmured, the words almost a command.

Graive's only sound was a feigned whimper of compliance. The cold edge of her eyes, however, narrowed upon a darkened corner of the room. Slowly, her body shifted, dancing them in a circle so that Ciraz was forced to face the opposite direction they'd previously been in – which also exposed him to the shadow in the corner. Leaning forward, the witch's hips moved back, her body sliding along the length of Ciraz as she sighed heavily, as if she were enjoying it. "**I think…**" She purred deviously, turning to wrap her arms around his neck.

"**It will be my name screamed instead.**" Confusion filtered over Ciraz's handsome features as Graive gave him a look of utter disgust. He went to move back, but something hard and powerful stopped him. The Castanic man backed into the broad chest of an Amani beast. Looming amber eyes glared down at Ciraz with a fierce, feral hatred. In the next second, a clawed hand slammed into the man's jaw. Ciraz collapsed onto the ground a crumpled mess. Graive looked up to her pet, a slow smile forming on her lush, ebony lips. "**Good boy…**"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Her fingers slid along the cold length of her scalpel, watching as the candle light flickered against its shining surface. Icy eyes narrowed, studying the refined edge of the blade. A gloved finger touched the tip; seemingly satisfied with it, the woman placed it back upon the table glistening table. An assortment of surgical tools lined up neatly for display upon a sanitized, glass table. Graive took note of each one, making sure they were all accounted for so she could do her job properly. Smiling softly, the edge of her soft lips gleamed in the dim lit room. Tonight was going to be interesting.

Heavy footsteps were heard as the beastly Amani carried the unconscious Castanic down the stairs. The light click of his talons on the floor caused Graive to glance up. Overlooking her pet, she motioned with a single hand for him to lay Ciraz upon the examining table. The room around them was small, dark. There was a seemingly dark void surrounding them, as past the small bits of candlelight, there was only an abyssal black. There was a rather intricate contraption hovering just over the table she stood beside, and as Graive's hand began to glow a bright white, she lifted it to said object.

The room lit up momentarily, and in the same moment the Amani male slipped Ciraz onto the table. After a mere few seconds, the light became more focused, narrowing upon the chest cavity of the Castanic man. Arcana sparked and flowed from the contraption, which was now obviously used for lighting. "**Thank you, Vexan.**" Graive murmured to the Amani. Vexan grunted lowly, and for a second the witch took the time to look him over. His massive form seemed too large for the small room, his head nearly touching the ceiling. Horns curved sharply from the top of his forehead, large and imposing. Two smaller ones pointed out dangerously behind the larger ones and overall his thickly scaled body was a dark hue of gray.

Thick muscles rippled with each little movement he made, dancing beneath the solid flesh of his form. Amber eyes, piercing, like molten lava bore out at the world. They were the eyes of a monster, a creature – no pupils, only the constant of golden fury. The most defining feature over all, however, was his lips. Sewn together, this prevented the male from speaking. Graive had done the deed herself, having no tolerance for small talk or being disobeyed. So now, the beast complied to her every word with the feral responses of growls and grunts.

Offering him a small, empty smile, the woman turned to look back over her subject. Adept hands moved forward, unbuttoning his vest slowly. "**Take his pants off and strap his ankles in.**" Graive gave the command without glancing up, still removing his vest and keeping an eye out for signs of him coming to. Vex growled at his mistress in obedience, obeying without another sound. Large hands grasped the feet of Ciraz, slipping his shoes off in swift motions. In the next moment Vex ripped the man's pants off without any hesitation.

Lifting her gaze from her task, the witch scowled, giving Vex a disapproving glare. "**I said take his pants off, not rip them off. Now I'll need to stitch them.**" It was important that there was no evidence, no tale tell sign she'd done anything to the man. Leave no evidence, no trace; it was in this manner she was able to get away with her dark, devious deeds. The large Amani glowered at his Mistress, obviously displeased by her tone and scolding. Slipping the man's ankles into the straps a moment later he threw the fabric to the side; the beast stared openly at the man's flaccid manhood.

Looking up, Graive noticed his gaze and she scoffed lightly, predicting his thoughts. "**Come now, not everyone can be as impressive as an Aman.**" Grunting, Vexan turned and moved to the edge of the room. Massive forearms crossed, biceps bulged with muscle as he decided to watch from afar. After peeling his vest off, with no help from her brooding pet, Graive slipped his wrists into straps and also slipped a strap on his neck, just over his Adam's apple. Just in time, too, as it seemed the man was beginning to come to. Groaning from the pain in his head, Ciraz's eyes fluttered open slowly.

Emerald eyes peered out, but he was blinded by the light. Graive watched him try to lift his hand to block the brightness, but realized quickly that he couldn't. Confusion filtered over his features, and the witch reveled in the experience of it. While her own emotions were recycled at best, she could feel no true mental emotions; this made real emotions fascinating to her. Each contortion, each little twitch of flesh caused different expressions to wash over, it was like watching a movie. Tilting her head to the side, the witch cooed to him, brushing aside a strand of hair from his handsome face.

"**Now, now, don't struggle.**" Her voice was a silky whisper as it filled the air and poisoned his mind. Once he'd adjusted to the light, his gaze settled on Graive's stoic expression. A nervous laugh escaped from between his arrogant lips, "**If you liked it this way, all you had to do was ask, sweet.**" Sending her a wink, he attempted to come out of his restraints, though was careful to test their strength by pulling out against the slowly. Graive's cold eyes narrowed, giving him a look of complete and utter apathy. Where the rumors about this man really true?

Her nose wrinkled lightly, a distaste growing in her mouth. Her initial interest in the man had been due to woman chattering about a man with the stamina and power of an Amani warrior. They spoke of his charm, and how wonderfully amazing he'd been in within their beds. Graive had feigned interest, swooning over the idea until one of the ladies had begrudgingly given Ciraz's usual hangouts. It hadn't been hard to find him; his arrogance alone could smother one's own confidence with a single glance.

A Castanic was not an Aman, and while they were impressive specimens, their stamina and overall prowess couldn't physically ever match that of an Amani warrior. She needed to examine, probe, _cut_, to find the truth behind it all. Perhaps it was just the simplistic minds of women over exaggerating, but Graive couldn't take that chance. If something was amiss, her curiosity was too much to overlook it. The distinct aura of magic radiated from him, that much she was certain of. Such a thing was odd in itself as his skill set leaned toward the more physical cutting edge of battle. His admiration of the greatsword, which was Vexan's, had deduced he was likely a Slayer.

The glowing light above enhanced the contours of his abdomen. "**We've got a long night ahead of us, my dear, why don't you just relax?**" She murmured, brushing the flat of her palm against his forehead. To her dismay, his nervousness had caused him to begin sweating, and so her glove was tainted by the smell of his musk. Sighing softly, Graive slipped her gloves off little by little, pulling at one finger at a time. Ciraz watched her carefully, his head tilting up as he refused to relax. "**I really don't like this, untie me, sweet. I'll tend to you properly.**" He offered with a low laugh, his voice slightly shaky.

"**I have no intention of unstrapping you.**" The witch murmured softly, turning to her surgical tools to determine which one she would initiate the process with. Glancing over, Ciraz jerked away in surprise at the sight of the weapons. "**Damn you, woman, let me go!**" Panic laced his words, his tone of obvious fear and anger. A smile slithered across her ebony painted lips as she picked up a scalpel, the glint of the edge blinded Ciraz for a moment and he closed his eyes and looked away. "**Why would I let you go? You promised to entertain me tonight…**" There was a pout on her lips, her tones a sultry coo.

Ciraz's emerald eyes lifted, they were wide, staring at the weapon winking at him within her nimble fingers. After a moment of further admiration, Graive remembered something she'd likely need to do. She didn't need Ciraz getting her table dirty. Pulling out a syringe, Graive examined the liquid for a moment, making sure it hadn't thickened in between the time since she'd prepared it. The needle was long and thin, designed to slip into small tubes and veins within the body.

Thumping the base lightly, the witch was careful to make sure no air pockets were inside. Once done, she leaned over and smoothed her hand over Ciraz's torso. His body jerked, chills running over his skin and he seemed to growl in the back of his throat. Becoming uneasy, Vexan slipped from out of the shadows and loomed over the man. A cry tore from the Castanic man's lips as he stared at the beast and his burning eyes. "**Let me go, you bitch! You're going to regret this!**" A large, solid hand slammed against Ciraz's chest as Vexan's forced his body still.

Nodding to her pet, Graive leaned in, focusing on where the man's urethra was. A strangled cry could be heard from Ciraz as the needle sank into the base of his penis. Injecting the liquid in slowly, she was careful to make sure it was going to the correct place. "**Now, this is to keep you from soiling yourself. I don't mind a little blood, but urine is…disgusting.**" Graive explained in a low tone as she placed the syringe back on the table of tools.

Turning, the woman grabbed a pair of disposable gloves from the same table. Slipping them on; she needed to make sure no blood got on her hands. After a moment, feeling that it was safe for his Mistress, Vexan slipped back into the shadows. The only part of him seen was the gleaming amber depths shining from the darkness. Watching Vexan leave the side of the table, she almost missed the next words Ciraz muttered. "**Please, I'll do whatever you like, just let me go.**" The plea was pitiful; his face was contorted into a look of pain and fear. It gave Graive a rush she'd never thought possible.

"**You'll do what I like regardless.**" The witch purred with a small, devious smile curling her lips. Slipping on her glasses, Graive pushed the frames up her nose with a single finger. The action was done so more out of habit than necessity. Licking her lips slowly, she contemplated her first move. "**Tell me, Ciraz, what is your secret?**" She questioned, wondering if the man would make it easy for her. He'd closed his eyes, and his lips formed silent words of prayer – as if the Gods would help him. Grabbing a scalpel, Graive leaned forward and pressed the sharp edge against his face. "**Answer me, dear, or I'll cut open you're pretty face.**" Ciraz gasped, pulling away instinctively.

"**What secret are you talking about?! I don't have a secret.**" He muttered, becoming angry again. He struggled against the restraints, but quickly realized it was futile. Wonderful, a laugh slipped past her lips and into the air, echoing inside the room like a malicious blade. Ciraz stared at her with terror, and then glanced at the scalpel once more. Graive preferred the hard way, it meant she got to delve deeper into the mystery. The priestess's hand lowered, fingers splayed wide just below his navel. Closing her eyes she paused for a long moment, searching his body for any magical properties.

The crackle of arcana hummed within his body, but it pinpointed at one place. Thick lashes lifted as those icy eyes of hers turned to look at his manhood. "**Yes, of course. It only makes sense that would be the source.**"


End file.
